Lady & Killer
by Rath101
Summary: Dabbles and One-shots of the evil couple. Updated whenever inspiration hits.
1. Fairy Tale

Killer wasn't prince charming.

He wouldn't fall in love at first sight with the first beautiful princess he saw, he wouldn't save her from evil doers that wish her harm; he wouldn't whisk her away on his valiant steed and live happily ever after.

No, that simply wasn't killer.

He'd never been in love. Sure, he'd had the cheap whore here and there and the unstable girlfriend but he'd never been in love. He wouldn't hurt anyone for those girls; in fact, many of their bruises were his own fault. Above all though, he'd never get to ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after.

He didn't treat girls like princesses. He didn't buy them expensive things, didn't hold the door open for them, and didn't even bother to look them in the eyes and say 'you're beautiful'.

No, that simply wasn't killer.

Then he met _her_.

Lady. Grace. Whatever or whoever she was. Her name didn't matter.

When he first saw her, he saw a nuisance of a girl who was going to give up his location for being a typical stupid woman. Oh, how wrong he was. Hearing those men scream in terror and agony… it was music to his ears. Then she was before him, in all her superior glory she stood over him. He couldn't breathe; she was a vision of death. Her thirst for control and her ambition for her own designed world drew her to her like a moth to a flame. He didn't see her beauty, he saw her raw power.

When she gave him her kiss, he belonged to her.

Now, she wasn't a princess. She was a _goddess_ – his goddess.

She wanted to destroy the world; he'll help her until every last speck of it was gone. She wanted the dead girl around, he kept her alive. Whatever she wanted, she'd get because Killer was hers. When she wanted her brother kept alive, although out of the way, he obeyed. Although leaving a threat alive in the world made his fingers twitch with paranoia and nerves.

He couldn't let anything hurt her. She was perfect, nothing would taint her. Not her brother, that sniveling doctor or even himself. He'd found someone more important than himself.

They wouldn't have their happy ending. They wouldn't get their own world to rule to their liking. They wouldn't be together. They'd die, ironically for each other.

But, _what if_ they'd never been Lady and Killer?

What if he'd grown up in a loving family that wanted only what was best for him? What if he hadn't fallen off the wagon and gone down the road of crime and sin. What if Lady had never had to give her will to her brother? What if the two had lived like ordinary children and simply been normal?

What if they'd met each other before Lady and Killer and were simply Grace and the boy down the road?

If they lived in a fairy tale; they'd be Grace and her prince charming.

But this isn't a fantasy, this isn't a storybook. This is the dreaded reality.

Therefore, their names are Lady and Killer…

…And they wouldn't have their chance to ride off into the sunset.


	2. Jut Once

Just once, he wanted to hear it.

His name fall from her lips.

"L-lady." He gasped.

As he was falling to the ground, he knew he would never hear it. All he wanted was for Lady to say his name.

Why? Why could she not speak?

To hear her voice would be like a deaf man learning sound again, a war hero returning home after years away, a king finding his queen.

All he wanted was to hear his name for her lips.

She's leaning over him now, her expression dull but her eyes looked concerned, maybe even fearful.

He couldn't gasp her name again, couldn't find the strength to caress her lovely face. Just once more would have been nice.

Slowly, as though unsurely, Lady opened her mouth as though to say something.

Killer would never know, as darkness rushed upon him. He'd always wonder, but he'd always come to the same conclusion:

It must have been the trick of the light.


	3. A Killer's Life

Killer doesn't remember much of his childhood.

According to his parents, he would spend all day out in the sun, running around the backyard – the perfect visage of a happy child.

Killer remembers all this; however, what his parents didn't know was his obsession with insects. All those little bugs that clung to the flowers and rolled in the mud, he'd hunt them. He'd become one with his surroundings and pounce on them unawares, ripping off the wings of flying bugs and butchering the legs of crawlers. Then, he'd bury them alive, and by the time he was five; he had his own little graveyard full of them.

But as time grew on, he grew bored of the dragonflies, the ants, the slaters, the cockroaches and whatever other bug that was drawn to his mother's garden. He needed to move onto bigger and better things.

First, was his own pet bunny –Johnny. His little white fur became spotted with crimson blood and his eyes went glassy. His parents were horrified that someone would break onto someone's property and kill a child's pet, and they bought him a puppy named Jimmy to stop any tears that would come in future. The dog was cute; brown fur, black eyes and was jumping all the time… but he enjoyed digging up Killer's bug graveyard. It was obvious what needed to be done - the dog had to go, only this time, it would join the bugs in the ground.

A runaway dog, his parents assumed. Posters went up, numbers were exchanged but alas, the dog was never to be found, when in reality, Killer strapped a firecracker to its mouth.

The neighbour's cat was next. It liked to sit on the fence, watching him. Perhaps it admired the way Killer took care of his prey or perhaps it was waiting for the time to strike… a nice large stone aimed well to its head took care of that problem. The cat too, joined the dog and bugs in the gardens graveyard.

By the time he was eight, bones of numerous animals in the neighbourhood began piling up in the garden, skilfully hidden by Killer. The large weeds and untrimmed trees kept everything nice and undisturbed.

But again, it wasn't enough; there was no challenge to it anymore.

Nickolas, was the Greek nerd boy at his school. He was always picked on for his thick accent that no one could understand and his only constant companion being a fat book. He would often sit in the trees at school, hiding from other students while attempting to read. His falling out of one of those trees and breaking his neck caused those trees to be removed. It was a terrible accident and the school mourned for the boy they never treated right. Killer was just grateful he didn't have to bury the body this time.

Next time was Becky she was beautiful, blonde, pale, and sweet – and he had to have her. Caring whispers in her ear and soothing touches and he was in her bed by the end of the week. When it was all said and finished, she'd lost her appeal. She cried, whined and clung to him, desperate to know why he abandoned her. He told her the truth. He wanted her; he had her, now she was nothing. Two days later she was found dead in her bedroom with an empty bottle of pills and a bottle of alcohol next to her. He hadn't even done it this time, but he still felt the thrill.

This continued, year after year after year. He'd be satisfied after each kill or occasional torture but as time would go by, he'd find himself inching for a kill.

When he was seventeen, he came home from school one day to find his mother in a state of shock with tears streaming down her face. His father was sitting at the table with his head in his hands. Both of them were obviously disturbed by something. There was silence for a long time, before his father silently motioned for Killer to follow him. They went to the garden, where dozens of unearthed bones lay. There were small bones, large bones, and maybe even half fossilized corpses. It was obvious that the bones were of small animals, and suddenly, the weekly disappearances of the neighbourhood pets made sense.

They asked him a lot of questions; all that he refused to answer. But he knew that they knew. It was obvious. His mother's tears, his father's brooding silence.

They didn't male him go to school the next day, and Killer wisely stayed in his room, for the first time in his life he worried about what his parents might do. He'd heard the front door open and shut and he knew that something wasn't right. Stealthily, he went down the stairs and listened in. They were doctors, obviously, in white clothing. They were asking where he was, but they never found him, just a bedroom window left open in hast and a missing bag and set of clothes gone.

He stayed in a home dedicated to runaways, using a fabricated story about domestic abuse, and he'd finally run. They all felt sympathy for him and paid extra attention to the teen; Louise in particular.

She was a new worker to the home, being only twenty years of age, and had been a runaway herself. Her story was much similar to Killer's fake one. He wanted her, he had her, but for some reason, he only wanted her more. Her smile, haunted him, drove him into near insanity. This wasn't supposed to happen; he couldn't be attached to anything. He left the home with her lying in a pool of her own blood – just in case she tried to find him, or worse if he'd ever think to come back for her.

He cast away his name and replaced it with one that he believed suited him perfectly; Killer. It didn't work the way he intended it too, at first. Most assumed it was an ill-humoured joke, but that was before he ripped their entrails out.

Alcohol, he discovered quickly, kept the itch at bay for a while, but not as much a drugs did. But much too often, he'd wake with a pounding headache, a lapse in his memory and a dead whore at his side. He dismissed the brain altering goods soon enough, deciding that there was no point in missing out on all the fun. Before he knew it, he'd thrown more bodies in the ocean then he had bugs in his childhood garden.

Derek, a stupid lowlife thug, had a job for him. His sister, Veruca was running her mouth to the cops about what he'd been up to. The reports needed to vanish, and his sister needed to join them. So, Killer broke into the police station, escaped with only one guard dead and the files in his bag. The sister was easy enough to make comply with his plans; he merely dragged her by her hair while she tried to scream through the gag. The files were burned to a crisp in a large bonfire by the wharf; he tossed the girl in next.

Before he knew it, his name and face was all over the city; shop windows, bus stops, newspapers – he couldn't go anywhere in plain sight without someone calling the cops. They all pegged him as a 'psychotic killer', a murderer to more people and animals then they could count.

He moved from city to city, gained himself a high reputation amongst all the trash of the world. He had more money then he'd ever care to use and more than once people had tried to double cross Killer – needless to say, they never got the chance to try again.

He knew it would be a bad day, his gut told him so. Here he was twenty-something years old, a bag of knives by his side and he was public enemy number one. He knew the second he stepped outside that night he'd been double-crossed. The police don't just randomly shoot a man stepping out his own house without a least checking to see if it's the right guy, unless they knew beforehand.

He ran faster than he ever thought a human being could run. Bolting through a warehouse and for the pier where his emergency boat was, he felt a bullet strike true. One bullet in his calf and he knew he was down and out. Struggling around the boxes it he warehouse, he made for the boat. He heard frantic yelling and he knew they had momentarily lost him. Hiding in between crates, he waited for them to pass.

When he was certain they had, he fled the scene and hobbled toward the water. He needed his boat, or there was no way he was getting out of this. Pain started to register and he realized with alarm that his adrenaline was wearing off. Bit by bit his strength left, before he knew it he was on his knees, panting heavily - the boat just metres away.

Was this really how he was going to die? Half a lifetime worth of accomplishments that no one could ever dream of and this is where it gets him? What would it be; death by firing squad or slowly bleed to death?

Abruptly, a woman entered his periphery. She was a pretty girl, almost white blonde hair with pale skin and - red eyes?

Before he had time to contemplate the oddity, she strolled past him and into the direction the police officers. He tried to tell her to turn back, that she'd be dead before she could even say a word but his body refused to listen and he collapsed again.

Fuck it let her die.

Screams filled the air, and for a moment he thought nothing of it. Until it clicked in his brain that they were masculine screams. Not at all feminine like the one that girl should have released. Blood splattered all over the crates and the putrid smell of burnt flesh filled the air. He watched mesmerized as blood squirted from the bodies of those she'd maimed and the way she stared down horrifyingly at her opponent.

Killer had never seen anything more beautiful.

As the bodies all fell to the floor like leaves in autumn, the girl approached Killer and before a word could escape his mouth she kissed him. It wasn't like the kisses he'd exchanged with whores or even with Louise. Power forced itself down his throat, through his veins and up into his brain, giving him abilities he never even knew existed. His heart thumped in his chest so hard he thought it would burst, and he barely felt the pain of his body pushing out the bullet and stitching itself shut.

She walked away immediately after, and Killer closely followed.

He wanted her, he would have her, and she would have him too


	4. He Was Strange

He was strange – that man.

True, all humans were strange to Lady but him more so than the rest. He didn't quiver in her presence and didn't run screaming in fear at her atrocities. In fact, he seemed to rather enjoy them.

When humans make that unusual barking sound; a laugh, it means they're finding something amusing – whatever that was. That man, the one whom always followed her seemed to find many things she'd done amusing. Frequently, his face would twist and distort into something else, a smirk it was called. He did it often and usually whenever something sinister entered his mind.

He was possessive of her as well; rarely leaving her alone and never allowing any man to approach. It wasn't often but occasionally some intoxicated hermit would swing his arm around her offering her a drink, as if the offer itself would persuade her to mate with him. She felt what she believed to be disgust at these times but before she ever put the man in his place, her devotee would be doing it for her, as if she needed his protection.

He always made sure she was healthy; eating correctly, getting enough sleep, all those menial things humans are so fond of. Even when his food was scarce he gave her the majority of it and more than once had he stayed up all night making sure nothing would harm her in the darkness. Although these were simple and trivial things, Lady found herself (was it appreciative?) of the small thing he did for her whilst neglecting his own needs and desires. More than once had he tried to hide his grumbling belly and try to disguise a yawn into a cough.

She could never understand his need to look after her. He owed her nothing and vice versa but he always insisted on following her. It didn't matter if it were through ice or fire, hell or heaven, will or malice – he still followed her and still tried his hardest to keep her safe.

"...You saved me, you know. It's the first time...anyone did that for me. That's why... I'm not trying to thank you, but I'll protect you...as long as I can...till I die."

When she watched him walk away from her and the gate, she cocked her head to the side and wondered what his motive could be to feel so needed.

That's when the conclusion came to her.

He needed to feel needed by her.

"I'm gonna help Lady get whatever she wants. I couldn't care less if this world is destroyed. As long as I can be with Lady, I'm happy."

He was strange indeed.

**A/N: Just a reminder; these are **_**separate**_** one shots and do not interrelate with one another. **


End file.
